


Gratuitous Gratitude

by Bobblychicken



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies), Planes (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobblychicken/pseuds/Bobblychicken
Summary: Somebody asked for this.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 15





	Gratuitous Gratitude

Dusty Crophopper lay out on the cool spring grass, stretching and squirming with glee in the sun on the expansive, carpet-like lawns lining Propwash Junction's runway. He'd been waiting there all morning since his eyes had come crashing open just before sunrise, as usual, and in the weeks leading up to that morning had been counting down the days. Bulldog, the UK rally champion, with whom the former crop duster had the pleasure of competing with in his first foray into air racing, ultimately saving the veteran racer's life along the way, was coming to visit. The old D.H. 88 owned property in Malibu, California, where he had been wintering. It was getting about time for him to fly back home to begin training for the next season of rallies, his thirty-fourth consecutively, and he thought, why shouldn't he stop by and see Dusty for a bit to serve as his layover? He never did get to properly thank him in the hustled atmosphere of the WAGR, and their paths hadn't crossed since. He was sure the boy would be thrilled with a visit. It was the least he could do.

The orange and white plane's nose tipped up sharply from where he lay in the grass as he heard the droning of two separate yet identical engines, something that would be indistinguishable to human ears, approaching. Then as the noise grew louder, he scrambled to his landing gear, frame trembling and simply dripping with excitement when he recognized the familiar silhouette of a twin-engined, cropped-winged plane. Dusty couldn't believe his own hearing when he'd clicked on the receiver on the radio and heard a well-matured British voice come out of it three weeks ago. Bulldog wanted to come see him! Said with all the chaos and constant action during the race, he hadn't really been able to thank him properly; the least he could do was drop in and spend some quality time with him away from all the cameras and rigid schedules.

Bulldog could see Dusty as he began his descent, seeing the way the little orange and white plane bobbed up on his landing gear as they caught each others eyes, the plane's brilliant blues gleaming giddily as his control surfaces rose up. It was almost no different from the very moment they met. The endurance racer chuckled. Some things never do change, do they? And thank Chrysler for that. Soon after landing and taxiing off the main runway and onto the road, amusement turned to apprehension as Dusty came rushing toward him. Bulldog hunkered down and leaned back a bit in this landing gear, bracing himself, but then Dusty seemed to suddenly gain a sense of decorum and slowed. He stopped before the slightly larger plane, tilting up, and Bulldog obliged him, leaning down to touch noses in greeting.

“Oh, Bulldog, it's so good to see you!” Dusty said then, now moving forward into the crook of the fore of the larger plane's wing to press his cheek against his. “Thank you for coming. I still can't believe you came all the way out here to see me!”

“Of course, Dusty,” the British plane replied, pressing back. “The pleasure's all mine, really. So this is where you live?”

“Yep! This is it! This is Propwash Junction!” the former crop duster proclaimed as they drew away, gesturing with a wing.“You're probably tired. Do you want to rest a bit at my hangar first before I show you around?”

“No, actually, I'm not tired, but I have been a long way. I think I'd just like to taxi and cool off a bit, so I'll take that tour if you don't mind. We'll end it at your place, and I can rest then, how's that sound?”

“Right,” Dusty nodded, then chuckled. “Well you've probably seen all there is to see here on your way in, honestly, but follow me.”

Dusty had been pleasantly surprised as, at first scaling back his pace, Bulldog was fully able to match him without any extra effort as they made their way through town. The crop duster-turned-racer had been so used to taxiing with Skipper, who despite being similar in age, was not nearly so spry as the endurance racer, at least not when he didn't need to be.

"It's not much is it?" Dusty smiled, as the two planes lay down in the grass near the edge of the cliff after wrapping up.

"Perhaps," Bulldog replied, emitting a soft grunt as he stretched before settling further into his landing gear, "Although to be quite honest, if it weren't for the sun being out, I should think that I were back home in England," the old Comet joked as he looked down at the river and the vast expanse of green fields and hills down below.

"That's true, isn't it?" Dusty chuckled, looking down as well. "There's few places in the world you can live and get a view like this though."

"Certainly. Build a town on top of a plateau?" the older plane mused, "But it's perfect. You could almost see the whole world from up here without ever having to lift an elevator."

"That's right, and you're not the only one that thought so. Things have turned upside down a bit ever since I won the Wings Around the Globe rally. Before, a lot of the hangars that you saw had been empty for a long time. We had people coming over from all around to see the crop duster that flew around the world. Well some of them never left, and the town keeps on growing," Dusty paused, then motioned at something, prompting Bulldog to turn slightly; two Piper Twin Comanche proplings were tussling in the grass, "See those two little ones? Those are the first proplings that have been born here in forever, since I was born even."

Bulldog's eyes softened as he watched them, then both males chuckled as harmless play seamlessly devolved into full-on nose-wrestling for reasons apparently known only to themselves.

"Cute little rascals," Bulldog remarked in amusement as the mother had come hurrying over to intervene at the sound of their tiny engines' high-pitched, raspy growling, although he was sure they were much too small to do any real damage.

As the last of the orange in the sky gave way to the night, the two racers headed for Honkers. The after-hours watering hole saw nearly the whole town coming through on a nightly basis, and while a few short 'hi theres' had already been had here and there when Bulldog had been taken through the main landmarks, Dusty figured this would be a good opportunity to socialize and properly meet close friends and neighbors. Everyone was very gracious. Dusty had been the darling of Propwash Junction ever since it was announced that his parents were expecting, having been so long since the town had seen aircraft children of any kind born. After their unfortunate passing when he was just barely a weanling, the community had rallied and jumped at any chance to help when Dottie's family took him in. With pretty much everyone in town having a part in raising the undersized crop duster, he was very much beloved. Any friend of Dusty's was indeed a friend of theirs, and so Bulldog's visit was treated no differently than the celebrated homecoming of a family member.

The bar had seen a significant up-grade in their supply, seeing as how tourism was now a thing, and had broken out some of their best bottles. Bulldog had been pleasantly surprised to see his favorite brand of gin among the selection on the shelves. Dusty left him to it. He didn't like gin. His first taste of it had been his last at a party he'd gone to that had an open bar. The ever curious crop duster was just barely of legal age to drink and so didn't know any better when he'd simply poured himself a shot of it and downed it with no chaser. Amusement had fast replaced concern when Chug had come over to check on him when he'd noticed how pale Dusty'd gone in his paint, laughing after Dusty had finally managed to gasp out what had happened.

"Dusty, you're not supposed to just shoot gin."

"Now you tell me!"

It was nearly a quarter to midnight by the time the two racers headed for Dusty's hangar. While both planes had stopped drinking about an hour and a half before, Dusty still remained somewhat toasty after several back to back Jack N' Cokes. After getting the spare sleeping mat down and settled, the two stayed up talking for a while longer. Mostly about racing, of course. Despite having quite an encyclopedic knowledge of the veteran racer's career and exploits, Dusty never tired of hearing Bulldog tell it.

"You really have seen the whole world, haven't you?" the younger plane had remarked.

"From corner to corner, top to bottom. Every ocean and sea and continent," Bulldog nodded, inwardly enjoying Dusty's penchant for transforming back into a propling at the subject of racing still after being in the business himself, and all he'd been through to get in, come to that. He hoped to Chrysler and all that was holy that he never, ever lost that.

"And in the dark," Dusty had to add, "Of course this was before they put a lot of restrictions on night flying races, but in your early rallies, when the sun went down, you'd simply keep on flying through the night where most of the other racers wouldn't dare."

"Yes, well... It helps when you can see in the dark."

Dusty was quiet for a moment.

"...You can see in the dark?"

"Mm hmm."

"Nuh uh!"

"Yes, huh!" Bulldog retorted sardonically. "All us Comets can see in the dark, you didn't know? Why else should they call us that?"

"Well I know there's planes that can see in the dark, I just didn't know the DH.88s were a part of that group."

"Yes. There's a few in the De Havilland order that possess night-vision, but we were the start. We were all much celebrated for it and for our speed and endurance as racers, which got the attention of the RAF. However, we were on the small side for any kind of fighting. Nevertheless, many a Comet lent their contributions, if you will, to the creation of the Mosquitoes. Of course that was before there were civil laws against that sort of thing."

"Wow... Show me."

"Alright, turn the lights out."

At this time of night, the street lamps outside were no longer lit. The only sources of light in the town this late were the runway and tower of the airport. Dusty's hangar was situated in a way to where it was out of the way of the lights, so on cloudless nights only the light of the moon would shine through the windows, something nearly undetectable to Dusty, but not to Bulldog. As the younger plane's composure fell in his confusion as to just how he was going to be able to test his companion's ability to see in the dark while being completely unable to see anything at all himself, Bulldog could still make out every object and most detail in the hangar, although any colors were much less saturated.

"Hmmm... Well- Hmm," Dusty continued to puzzle, brow furrowed. "Ah, okay! Uh, trace my racing number. The big one on my side."

"Alright," he heard Bulldog respond from where he last saw him before the lights turned out.

Then Dusty waited in the pitch black. Machine kind did not breathe the same way most organic creatures needed to. The bellows-like organs that serve as their version of lungs are expanded by default, and, apart from speaking or running their engines in idle or higher, most otherwise only need to take a breath once in several minutes unless stressed or excited. Seeing as how aircraft didn't have the most sensitive hearing in the first place, Dusty could not rely on it to tell him where in space Bulldog currently was either, only by smell and the displacement of air when he moved, and he practically jumped out of his paint when he finally felt what he assumed was a wingtip touch him on the opposite flank he was expecting. Bulldog chuckled.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" he teased, obviously having taken the opportunity to have a bit of fun.

"You did that on purpose!" Dusty accused with a squeakier voice than he would have liked.

"Well you never specified which side, now, did you?" the older plane chuckled again, thoroughly enjoying Dusty's reaction. "What now?"

"The blue stripe, from my nose to my tail," the frazzled plane replied, shaking the last of his jitters out with a snort before specifying firmly, "On the same side you just did, please."

Bulldog obliged, Dusty completely unaware of the DH.88's smirking in watching him struggle to keep still as he went along, taking his time as he traced the zig-zagging strip of blue down the length of his fuselage. For all his efforts to regain his composure, the earlier surprise had left him hypersensitive now, and Dusty hiked up higher and higher on his landing gear the further Bulldog went, desperately fighting the urge to squeak again. But Bulldog wanted him to squeak. As touchy-feely of creatures as aircraft were, the veteran racer was more on the reserved end of the spectrum, however, he had just as much guile as the next, and this really was just too much fun. That had been quite the reaction he'd elicited earlier, and he was quite curious to see just what other noises Dusty was capable of making. The way Dusty's tail had gradually lifted as his wingtip trailed along his flank, those earlier, playful desires were not long in turning to darker ones. Bulldog waited a few moments while Dusty attempted to simmer back down again.

"And now?" he asked.

"Uh," Dusty paused, gulping, "My name. Can you find my signature?"

That ought to stump him. The delicate lettering of his name was tiny and in light paint, hard enough to notice even in broad daylight, but that was wishful thinking, as Bulldog had already noticed it when as he had trailed his wingtip over the blue lightning bolt down his side, and so simply turned around and went right to it. However, as Dusty tensed again, preparing to be tapped by another pointy, pokey wingtip at any moment, he flinched anyway at the feeling of something more blunt just gently press right over his signature. Bulldog had touched his nose to the spot. Dusty knew as much because there were two radiating points of warmth from his engines instead of just one. He held it there, keeping contact, and the little plane smiled in the darkness, eyes shifting to look back in Bulldog's direction. Bulldog smiled as well when he felt the tension lessen in Dusty's frame, and he tilted, pressing more of the side of his nose against him.

"And now?" he asked again, his tone still confident, but softer now.

Dusty had tensed again, only instead this time it was in warm, tingly relish; unlike Bulldog, he could get as mushy as they come, and he was an absolute sucker for being touched or nuzzled or any friendly, physical contact.

"My piston and cross wrenches?" he ventured, not caring that it was an easy request.

"Certainly," the older plane replied, moving away, "...and which side?"

"Either one works." ' _Just so long as you're touching me again_ ,' Dusty thought giddily.

He was not long in being rewarded with the feeling of the lateral side of a warm, narrow nose pressing against the side of his own. Dusty closed his eyes and smiled in bliss, tilting and pressing back, and as he did so, Bulldog also tilted, pressing their lips together and kissing the crop duster deeply. Dusty had sucked in a short, stuttering gasp through his intake, emitting another soft little squeak, but then closed his eyes again, returning the kiss. They stayed connected for a few moments, then Bulldog pulled away, their lips smacking faintly before returning to their previous position with noses pressed together. Dusty's mind had gone blank in slight shock, unable to react beyond uttering a weak, shuddering "Oh..." A gentle, amused smile returned to Bulldog's face in the dark.

"Now what would you like me to do?" he asked.

Dusty tried to think, mind clouded over with confusion, shock, and euphoria. He felt both high and drugged, and even he knew he couldn't just blame it on the alcohol anymore; that kiss had pretty much knocked him sober. What just happened? He tried to remember how they got from simple pre-bedtime small talk to Bulldog kissing him fully on the mouth, but came up blank. He could, however, remember each little engine-fluttering bolt of pleasure every time he touched him, and then the rush as they kissed. It was the same sort of rush that he chased in each race he flew, indeed the same rush he had been chasing ever since he was a little kid. And like the adrenaline addict he was, he wanted more.

"...Touch me."

Bulldog nodded against Dusty's nose so that he could feel him do so. The smaller plane's breaths competed against the quickening in his engine as his temperature began to rise when he felt Bulldog leave the front of him. Then he gasped and shuddered at the feeling of a warm wet tongue and lips kissing and trailing their way along the aft of his left wing. The veteran racer's cunning teeth nibbled along his flaps, making Dusty fight to stifle a yip into a less undignified chuttering as he pushed it down through his engine. He was still trying to keep quiet, panting hard through his intake with the effort, but Bulldog would have none of it, and Dusty's body jerked as he bucked and cried out when the older plane had fully sunk his teeth into his wing. Although had he bitten any harder there would be hydraulic fluid in his mouth, Bulldog could sense absolutely no hint of any distress or upset on Dusty's part, and so he continued gnawing, jaws squeezing and nipping in way that sent alternating and increasing waves of pleasure and pain throughout his entire frame.

“...Ah! ...Mmm!”

There we go. As added insurance, Bulldog turned, slightly tilting and pressing and stroking his wing over the hinged paneling under Dusty's tail that hid his sex in time with his biting, and Dusty continued rewarding him with ever more enthusiastic cries, hisses, and muttered, breathless curses. Before the denting and warping could become too severe as to need mechanical intervention in order to resolve, Bulldog then turned all of his attention to that spot, and Dusty felt his body lock up in one single contraction, sighing his gasp back out as he let go and opened the panel, allowing Bulldog access. He swirled his tongue around the outer anatomy of the younger male's slit with deft precision, teasing, flickering, and nipping, his teeth apparently having no bounds. Yet however favorable Dusty's reactions, what lay hidden in the compartment within showed no signs of showing itself, save for an increasing, slightly oily tartness on Bulldog's tongue with each lick.

' _Shy, are we?_ ' the wily Comet thought, and then Dusty felt himself go weak in his landing gear as the feeling of that strong, dexterous appendage made its way up inside of him, the action immediately bringing thoughts of how it might feel, the pressure of the older racer's thrusts shaking every bolt loose, one by one. The images that flooded his mind drove his systems haywire, and he practically drooled out a lazy moan as his malehood finally slid out into Bulldog's view from its protective compartment.

“There's a boy... Hmm...” Bulldog growled, appraising his prize with approval, and also curiosity. “...You're not fully a crop duster, are you?”

“N-no...” Dusty answered, trembling in desire and euphoria, “My mother was a Cessna half-breed... and my father was a jet... a T-45 Goshawk.”

“Well that explains a lot,”said Bulldog, catching a line of precum as it had dropped out, licking it off the tip as if it were an ice cream cone and making Dusty jerk slightly, “It certainly explains how you've come to be in possession of such a fine, sturdy yet elegant cock.”

“Mmm...” Dusty could only smile bashfully as he felt his face go hot, indeed being shy, as Bulldog had surmised, then his engine made the chuttering noise again, instinctively splaying and locking his landing gear as he felt Bulldog ride his frame up onto his.

"Let's see what you think of mine, hmm?" he purred against the side of his head, and Dusty could only whimper in response as he felt something hot and hard brush against the side of his shaft and tease along his belly, feeling as if he would melt straight into a puddle right then and there.

He leaned down, lifting his tail and tilting over slightly, fully aroused and quivering in anticipation, so he was disappointed and confused when Bulldog slid back off and way from him. Dusty stood back up in the darkness, and just when he was about to turn to toward where he thought Bulldog was, he suddenly felt something flat pressing his nose back down and in. Bulldog was using his wing to push and guide Dusty back toward his tail. When that same something from before had bumped slightly against the side of his nose, it clicked in his mind what he meant. Unlike Dusty, Bulldog was not shy, and he wanted Dusty to know exactly what he was about to be dealing with. There would be no surprises here.

Dusty extended his tongue, flattening and then curling it somewhat around the side of the tapered but slightly flared head to bring it over to his lips. The metal was hot, and still damp from being up inside of him. From there, the orange and white plane slowly and methodically worked his way down Bulldog's shaft, delicately licking and kissing, feeling with his lips and tongue and building himself a mental picture of the DH.88's cock as he shuddered above him. The first thing he'd noticed was that, while not freakishly large by any means, it was much larger than Dusty would have thought for a plane of Bulldog's size. Girthier, and certainly longer, he thought, almost nervously, as he made his way down along the gently curving length, noting where all the different, rubbery nodes were. Two rows of small, bead-like ones on either side, starting underneath the base and curving up to meet halfway at the top before going back down and ending at two larger ones side by side underneath the tip, and there were two even larger ones on either side underneath almost midway on the robust shaft, where it began to curve back upward.

If he hadn't been eager to be fucked silly before, he definitely was now, and he moaned as he took Bulldog fully into his mouth, thinking about how amazing it was going to feel. The larger plane gritted his teeth in a grin, grunting softly as a low, nearly inaudible rumbling rattle rolled out from his engines like thunder, his frame vibrating. While not his original goal for bringing Dusty down there, only really wanting him to get a feel for him before going in fresh for a good dicking, the boy was doing a rather exemplary job, and so found it somewhat difficult to put a stop to it right away.

"Aah... Alright Dusty- Ooh! That'll do now..."

However, Dusty ignored him, and then when Bulldog tried to back out, he thrust his nose forward, hungrily taking him down that much further, working his tongue to make sure to hit every hot spot he could find in the process. Bulldog smirked. So, Dusty thought that he was just going to milk him dry until he succumbed to him completely, did he? Oh, the wee tyke...

Then Dusty's eyes flew open as Bulldog suddenly heaved himself up over the front of him, pulling him in and shoving his length fully down his throat. He struggled only briefly before realizing that Bulldog had his landing gear firmly in front of the aft of his wing, holding him there. While it hadn't posed too much of a problem for Dusty to blow him, the way the head bulged and sloped sharply upward away from the shaft on its trailing edge made it a significant challenge as far as deepthroating, and tears rapidly gathered in his eyes as his esophagus burned from the strain. Making matters more complicated was that fact that Bulldog had purposefully struck before Dusty took his next breath, and in his current state of excitement his systems required more oxygen in order for him to keep functioning. In his position he could do nothing but sit there while his dick throbbed, dripping precum like a faucet now at the erotica of the situation. Bulldog only released him when, on the verge of asphyxiation, he writhed a bit, looking back behind him with watery, pleading eyes. Feeling that he'd got his point across he withdrew from Dusty's throat with a wet squelch, and the poor little plane commenced coughing hoarsely, gasping and drooling and choking in his efforts to restore his oxygen levels back to an adequate level. Bulldog waited for him to catch his breath somewhat, then Dusty took in a short, soft gasp as he began to gently lick the tears that had leaked out away from his eyes and face. He caught the older plane's lips in his own whenever they came close enough, which then delved into long, sloppy kisses in which Dusty moaned and whimpered as Bulldog bit and sucked his lips and tongue with lascivious savagery.

"I... I want you in me... please..." Dusty keened out between his mouth being commandeered.

"And I want to be in you..." Bulldog husked, the growl in his voice emitting a deep power that Dusty felt he'd never forget as the tingling ecstasy of it went all the way to his wing tips. Then the little plane flinched when he felt Bulldog's warmth move from his front to right behind his left eye. "...more than you realize..."

He began kissing his way up on top of him until he had Dusty mounted again, continuing his onslaught over his back, licking him up with cannibalistic intent, burning his plating with kisses, nips, and suckles that were painful in their passion. Dusty arched up into him, trembling as the warnings of an orgasm were already shooting through his frame. He restlessly kept trying to roll his tail up to where Bulldog's tip lined up with his slit in his need to take him in all the way to the hilt. The Comet's engines were rumbling again, only this time with a harder, sharp edge, as in warning, not arousal, but Dusty went on trying to back himself onto his phallus, simply too intoxicated in gluttonous lust to care.

"So were that persistent, _are we_?"

Then, punishing the younger racer for disobeying him again, Bulldog leaned over, sinking his teeth into his wing and entering without warning. One thrust, one growl, one groan, and Dusty's eyes jutted out of his head, his control surfaces flying up and his frame arching to the point of cramping as his throat hoarsened out a rasping scream of pleasure's greatest excruciation. Gritting his teeth, he strained hard as he felt himself being stretched wider and wider, thrust by thrust, as Bullcog's cock shoved it's way into the warm, slick compartment that his own had previously resided in. _T-too big!_

“A-ah! … huh! … H-humph!”

“Yes, take it, boy...” the old Comet growled lecherously through his teeth.

Dusty licked the saliva from the corner of his mouth and sucked his lips behind his teeth as Bulldog kept up his methodical burrowing deeper and deeper into his body, having not let go of the smaller plane's wing the entire time. Only when Dusty had succumbed to a sobbing whimper did he let go, but he did not begin thrusting right away. It was nearly too much for him too, Dusty knew. His aching need... It was in the way he stood as still as possible, eyes having slipped closed as he took in a slow breath through his intakes before beginning to give Dusty slow, long licks over his plating as he calmed himself down, his tongue leaving paths of slobber in its wake. Within those paths was hydraulic fluid; the larger plane's teeth had bitten through his wing to the hoses underneath and punctured them slightly, leaving the wounds open to the stinging cold air in the darkness of the hangar. Dusty, having learned his lesson this time, sighed helplessly as he eagerly waited for Bulldog to start moving despite his insides still having yet to accommodate his length, utterly unable to distinguish where the pain and pleasure ended or began.

“Oh, God...”

"Hmm... Now that's not my name," Bulldog purred, nibbling and teasing as he took it upon himself to make a rolling motion on his tail gear instead of thrusting and plunging like Dusty wanted him to, driving him mad.

"H-huh... p-please..." he panted, shaking badly against the temptation to start moving himself, "...Bulldog.."

"Yes? Tell me what it is you want," Bulldog taunted, getting much amusement over the little plane's diminishing ability to verbally communicate.

He pushed Dusty's nose down further, tilting him and burying himself ever deeper, and the orange and white plane's eyes rolled back, squirming and moaning underneath him as his fuselage began to burn from the pressure.

"Oh, God, Bulldog... Fuck me... please... Fu-huck me!" he babbled out desperately.

"Ah, now that's a good boy..." the old DH.88 rumbled with a predator's growl darkening his tone as he finally started thrusting, setting into a moderate pace.

Dusty felt that he would blackout from sheer, deep, heavy euphoria as he finally got his wish. His control surfaces flexed in concert with the moans and cries with every body-convulsing ache of penetration, the tension from being on the edge for so long simply being too much for his frame to take. And yet, he still wanted more.

"Harder..." Dusty panted breathlessly.

Bulldog's engines made that low rattling rumble again as he obliged. In contrast to Dusty's enthusiastic sound effects, the larger plane was much more reserved, tempering himself soft grunts and hums with the occasional panted curse thrown in here and there. Although, when Dusty had shivered as his breaths had whispered across his plating, he couldn't help himself but to groan out a throaty, "God Dusty..." when the crop duster's walls had reflexively tightened down on him.

"Fuck... Fuck! Oh God!" Dusty panted as his breaths suddenly became more rapid and erratic.

"Mmm, what is it Dusty?"

"I'm gonna cum..." he gasped weakly.

"Well then, what are you waiting for?"

"I... I c-...can't..."

"Oh dear... Well we can't have that now, can we?" Then Bulldog leaned down, pressing their fuselages together and holding him close, "What do you need, Dusty? Tell me..."

"Want faster... harder..."

"Faster, harder... what?"

"Puh-Please..."

Bulldog adjusted his hold, bracing his landing gear firmly in front of Dusty's wing and against his side.

"As you wish..." he growled, using the leverage to pound into the young plane with abandon.

Dusty sucked in a gasp, releasing it in a long, desperate moan that skipped with every powerful jostle of his frame as Bulldog drove into him at nearly three thrusts per second. For a few moments, his release seemed to stubbornly continue to hold itself back, but slowly and surely the dam was crumbling, and Dusty's frame trembled almost to the point of convulsions as the already unbearable pressure mounted. Then he let out a short, loud cry, hissing his next few breaths through snarled teeth in glorious agony before keening out cries so sharp they could have cut his throat. Bulldog felt him eventually go completely limp as Dusty's entire body was flooded with utter euphoria as he continued fucking him.

“Good boy, Dusty... That's it... _Good_ boy...” the veteran racer cooed, now free to let himself go knowing that Dusty had gotten his.

Within his next few thrusts, Bulldog suddenly stiffened, hunkering down into Dusty's frame as his own trembled, eyes shut tight and growling. Dusty gasped and whimpered as he felt, jet by jet, flashes of heat in his depths as they were quickly filled, each subsequent pump causing more and more to ooze back out around the older plane's girth. For a few long moments they stayed connected, neither plane being able to move as they both panted hard in their efforts to move more air over their overheating engines. Later, having calmed down, they lay together on Bulldog's sleeping mat, the larger plane gently licking and grooming around the deep punctures his teeth had left.

“So... Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked as he snuggled in closer, nuzzling the cooling little frame.

“Chrysler, yes,” Dusty answered, still somewhat out of breath. “Fuck it felt so good.”

“Hmm,” Bulldog smiled warmly, “Good. And I was at such a loss as to how to thank you for saving my life all that time ago.”

“Well,” Dusty laughed tiredly, “You're welcome.”

“Ah... It was the least I could do,” said Bulldog smugly before laying down fully, and both planes quickly dropped into the best sleep of their lives.


End file.
